


Styx

by silent_tension



Series: Erebus [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, coda to 6x20
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_tension/pseuds/silent_tension
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't shake him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Styx

**Author's Note:**

  * For [letters_of_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letters_of_stars/gifts), [profoundbondage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/profoundbondage/gifts).



> Part of my "Erebus" series, coda to "The man who would be king". Unbettad because I suck

Running his tongue across his bottom lip, he places his hand on his own glass of whiskey, slowly runs his index finger across the side of it as he lifts the glass to trembling lips and washes down the smoky-musk that taints his taste buds. He can still feel the warmth of the fire- _flames_ -lapping at his cheeks and he closes his eyes, fingers sliding against glass, and _breathes,_ sitting on the edge of a bed he's never slept in before, in the middle of  a bedroom splashed in moonlight.

_"Dean, it's not broken"_

Something cold, _empty,_ burns through him and he wants to say something, _anything_ , he wants to scream, let the anger flow from his veins; instead he keeps _pushing_ , pushing the words back and they get caught in his throat. He snaps his jaw shut, feigns calmness over the worry that threatens to boil over his features as he watches his brother sleep.

Clicking his tongue, he steals a glance at the clock behind him as he releases his hold on the glass and leans forward, grips his palm around the top of the table- _I did it to protect you_ -and closes his eyes, a flush of anger washes over him and runs through his body, shoots up his spine and makes his stomach tighten. 

_"Maybe..."_

He knows that each word that had _fallen_ from the angel's lips was nothing more than a door slammed shut.  He knows that Cas could see it the way he felt it. _Fuck_.

He tilts his head back to stare up at the ceiling, runs a hand through his hair and turns _it_ off.  He doesn't care. _He_ doesn't care. _Nobody cares about you anymore, boy,_ the voice in his head whispers, and he swallows hard.  A snort escapes his throat and he swears he can feel his heart beating in a different way now; _no, he doesn't care_.

He wants to call him, he wants to _know_ , he has a million questions- _he wishes he had only a million questions_ -his friend has no answers to.

He needs to see him, and his fingers itch to touch, his blood burns cold, his throat's too tight and there's a feeling of emptiness worming its way under his skin and into the core of his bones.

 _No._ He won't call Cas. There's nothing left to say, right?

Oh, he was wrong. Cas doesn't care and he wants to pretend that it doesn't hurt, that it doesn't swallow him whole and spit him out into the flames of betrayal that hurts, different from how it is with Sam or Bobby.

_It's too late, I can't go back now. I can't_

It's not too late, he wants to scream, he wants to write the words across Castiel's skin but instead he locks them inside to protect his heart.

 _Get back on your feet_ , the voice says. _You know how to walk away._

 _  
_Straightening his neck, he shakes his head slowly before pouring more whiskey into his glass; forgetting is the first step to healing wounds, right? _Shut him out_ , it says.

He lets the walls around it come down and closes his eyes. It takes him four hours and 563 sheeps, but Dean finds _it_.

He lets the anger flow from his veins.

 


End file.
